


The Patient and The Psychoanalyst

by GreyGardens



Series: Their Dark Desires [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Angst and Humor, Banter, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy In Love, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Kissing, Love Confessions, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Roleplay, Romance, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Smart Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyGardens/pseuds/GreyGardens
Summary: What happens when Draco allows Hermione to play doctor.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Their Dark Desires [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182422
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	The Patient and The Psychoanalyst

Draco lay on the couch stiffly. Though it was comfortable and now thoroughly ruined with the most magnificent memories of Hermione, his body was rigid with tension. "The minute this violates our agreement, it's over, Granger." He said.

Hermione sat down in the matching black leather arm chair, parchment and quill in hand, and rolled her eyes. 

"I mean it, Granger," He said, "no judgement, or I'm out. I have much more important things to do with my time than lie on a couch and get picked apart and judged for an hour just because _someone_ gets off on it and thinks mocking me is foreplay." 

"Of course," Hermione said, making a quick note on her parchment, her quill scratching against the paper, annoyingly loud in the otherwise silent room. Draco bristled. What the hell was she writing? He hadn't even _said_ anything yet! "I promise not to violate our agreement." She continued.

"Good." He replied and then closed his eyes. He didn't know if closing your eyes was usually part of this muggle headshrinker lark, but he didn't care; the important thing was to block out the image of her sitting across the room from him, her curls swept out of her face in an uptight little chignon, wearing a fussy blouse and a skirt so short and tight that it had to have been a conscious choice, and one made purely to drive him completely bloody mental. 

No, he couldn't look at her, not if she was going to verbally dissect and eviscerate him; her cruel quill tearing across the parchment, judging him while looking so bloody gorgeous that he just wanted to rip her blouse off and ravish her, completely ruining all the hard work she'd clearly put into taming that glorious mane of hers. 

He couldn't believe he had agreed to play this silly game. The things he let her do to him. Fuck, she'd probably even have a bloody opinion on _that._

"Proceed." He said, feigning a yawn. She might want to play silly games like a schoolgirl, but that didn't mean he had to follow her rules or make the game fun for her, especially when they could be having so much more fun doing _other_ things together.

A memory of Hermione bent over the very couch he was lying on flashed through Draco's mind and he smirked. 

"So," she started, her voice sounding vaguely clinical and detached, "you said you think I 'get off' on picking you apart and judging you and that you believe mocking you is a form of foreplay for me. How does that make you feel?"

Fuck. Of _course_ she would immediately go right for the jugular. How the hell had she _not_ been sorted into Slytherin? 

"It doesn't make me _feel_ anything." He lied.

"No?" She asked as she scratched away with her infernal quill and parchment. "Normally one would have a lot of feelings about a situation where they perceive themselves to be treated the way in which you just stated that you feel you are."

"Oh they would, would they?" Draco asked, inwardly raging even as he adopted an air of bored indifference. "Well, jolly well good for them, but I don't. I can assure you, Granger, your bitchy little barbs don't hurt me at all." 

More bloody quill scratching. It was going to drive him mad before the image of her in that skirt even could. He was torn between the desire to tear the parchment out of her hands and rip it to shreds and a sick need to actually _read_ it and know what horrible things she really thought about him.

He was sure she'd have an opinion on _that_ as well. She'd probably call him a bloody masochist or something. Like _she_ was one to talk. 

"Okay, we'll circle back round to that." Hermione said, and Draco felt himself finally begin to relax. Thank fucking Merlin for _that._ "Tell me about your relationship with your mother."

Cunning bitch. It would be admirable if she weren't choosing to direct her poisonous venom at him.

"Didn't your mate Freud already diagnose that one?" Draco asked, pretending to yawn again, even as he fumed. "I want to fuck her and kill my father. Pity they're both already dead, now I know what my _problem_ is I could handle it quite well on my own. But then, that would leave _you_ in a rather awkward position wouldn't it, Granger? It seems you have an itch only an _'out of control narcissistic bigot with an Oedipus complex'_ like me can scratch."

"I see you've done your research since our last session," Hermione said, not breaking character, her blasted quill still scratching away, sounding like nails on a chalkboard in his ears, "I'm impressed."

"Ha!" Draco scoffed, unable to help himself. "Well, as much as I am sure that this will come as a complete _shock_ to you, Granger, you're not the only one who can crack open a book."

"Did you find it enlightening?" She asked.

"Well, all the pictures of muggles being tortured with some kind of electronic cruciatus machine by headshrinkers were pretty illuminating." He said dryly. "Rather amusing too." He added, knowing it would get under her skin.

"So," she said, ignoring his remark completely, "do you?" 

"Do I _what?"_ He spat, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

"Have an Oedipus complex?" She asked.

"No, Granger, I can assure you that I _don't_ want to fuck my bloody mother." He said, feeling the anger rising in his chest. "You'll have to wrack that brilliant brain of yours for another reason why I put up with your childish games and insults. I'm sure that if you think hard enough it will come to you." 

"Would you say that your mother _was_ cold and withholding?" She asked.

Fuck. Not this nonsense again.

"You know, Pansy Parkinson didn't play childish games like this." He mused cruelly. Maybe jealousy would shut her up. "She didn't care _why_ I fucked her as long as I was fucking her. That woman knew how to have a good time. Maybe I should send her an owl…"

"Tell me about your relationships." Hermione prompted, her voice steady, betraying no signs that he had managed to get to her at all. Damn it.

"Sorry, doctor," he drawled, "I'm afraid that would take all night and we're only scheduled for an hour." 

"Oh?" She asked. "I take it there were a lot of issues in your relationships then?" 

"No," he smirked, "there were a lot of r _elationships."_

"What do you think compels you to be so compulsively promiscuous?" She asked, her quill scratching brutally away. 

_"Promiscuous?!"_ He scoffed. "Why, doctor Granger, are you calling me a trollop?" 

"No!" She said, the incessant scratching of her quill finally coming to a halt. 

"Well," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face, "I can't say that you'd be wrong. I enjoy sex, so what? The last time I checked I wasn't the only one in this room who fancied a good shag once in a while." 

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying sex." She said curtly. "Or with enjoying having sex with numerous partners. You could sleep with all of London and it would be fine. But I _do_ think there is a reason why you've compulsively slept with so many people instead of settling down into a long term monogamous relationship."

"Yes," he confessed with a sigh, "there is."

"Oh?" She prompted, and he could tell from the way her voice rose on the word that she was suddenly _very_ interested.

"Because it's more _fun."_ He said, grinning wickedly. 

"Did any of these... _relationships_ mean anything to you?" She asked with an almost imperceptible edge to her voice.

"I can hear you judging me in your head from over here, Granger." Draco said, a note of warning in his voice.

"I'm _not!_ " She exclaimed, forgetting herself for a moment and dropping the cold, detached doctor act. 

"Good." He snapped. "And for your information, _doctor,_ all of them meant something to me." 

"They did?" She asked, her quill resuming it's judgemental scratching. 

"In their own way, yes." He said softly, getting lost in his memories for a moment. "Pansy meant fulfilling family obligations and doing what was expected of me as a Malfoy. Benjamin meant late night trysts in the dressing room of a theatre in the West End and - "

"Benjamin?" Hermione inquired, her quill coming to an even more abrupt halt. The silence that filled the room was so heavy it almost choked him. 

"Yes, _Benjamin."_ He hissed through clenched teeth, breaking the silence, "And he's not the only man I've been with either, Granger. Does that _shock_ you? Because I'm afraid that if it _does,_ that's _your_ issue, not mine." 

"No!" Hermione cried. "Oh, Merlin no, of course not. I just...I suppose I'm just a little surprised...I mean, with your family and - "

"There's more to people than the _idiots_ who raised them." Draco spat.

"You're right." She agreed quietly. 

"Blimey, Granger, I didn't think I'd have to tell _you,_ of all people, that there's more to a person than their _blood."_ He scoffed. "The irony is almost poetic. Beautiful, really, when you think about it." 

"Shut up." She said with a gentle laugh 

"It's not very professional to tell your patients to shut up, doctor." Draco teased. "I ought to file a strongly worded complaint with your board of ethics." 

"Did you love him?" Hermione asked suddenly. 

"Who?" He asked. "Benjamin?"

"Yes." She said, her voice softer, kinder. 

"No." He answered almost too quickly. "I mean, I suppose I _thought_ I did at the time, but we were young and dumb and my parents hated him and because of all that I thought he was perfect…" Suddenly he realized that her quill hadn't made a single damning note since they had started talking about Benjamin. The tension in his body started to melt away once more and he relaxed into the couch. 

"But he _wasn't_ perfect." He continued. _"None_ of them were, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that they were." As he lay there on the couch with his eyes closed, finally comfortable, he could almost convince himself that this was all just a dream and that the terrifying truth behind his words didn't matter. 

Almost. 

"Why not?" She asked quietly. 

"Because," he said, "none of them were who I really wanted to be with." 

"Oh?" She breathed. "And who did you want to be with?" 

"Josephine Titmarsh." He lied quickly, saying the first name that came to mind, the truth suddenly a heavy weight threatening to crush his chest.

Hermione let out a sigh of annoyance.

"What?" He asked. "I've told you, old Josie has had her eye on me for years. I'd have been a fool to not find that prospect intriguing. Forbidden love and all that. I'm sure your mate Freud has written nearly as much on that one topic as you've scribbled away about me in the last three quarters of an hour."

"It's only been twenty minutes." She corrected him automatically.

 _"Fuck."_ He groaned. 

"Do you always use humor as a manner of deflection when dealing with emotions?" She asked, her quill resuming it's assault on the page. 

"No," he said, "sometimes I use cruelty. But you probably know _that_ better than anyone else already, Granger. I'm sure the fact hasn't escaped an insufferable genius like you." 

"Why do you think you feel the need to deflect and push people away when emotions become involved?" She asked, an undercurrent of excitement in her voice.

Of _course_ she was enjoying this, the bloody swot. She _would_ get off on treating him as though he were nothing more than just another school assignment. Another puzzle to solve. Something else she could grasp and understand before anyone else could. Carelessly tearing him apart in the process, as if he weren't human too, as if he didn't have feelings. 

"I don't know, Granger," he snapped, "because I'm an arsehole?" 

"Well, _yes,_ you are," she agreed, "but there's obviously more to it than that. And even if you _were_ just an arsehole, there would be a _reason_ for that."

"Well, I'm sure if there is, you'll figure it out." He said bitterly. 

"Do you find intelligent women threatening?" She asked, changing the topic entirely. 

"No, actually, I find them incredibly sexy." He said truthfully, and he smirked as he heard the sound of Hermione's quill falling to the floor with a clatter. He _knew_ that would throw her off.

"Most people genuinely bore me to tears," he continued, "but an intelligent woman is a challenge, a sparring partner, an equal. Nothing turns me on more than a battle of the wits and wills with a woman who can actually keep me on my toes." 

"Really?" She said, sounding flustered. He didn't even have to open his eyes to tell that she was blushing.

"Really." He drawled. "That's the kind of woman I could actually see myself spending the rest of my life with. She certainly wouldn't be boring. And besides, smart women make the most thrilling and inventive lovers."

He heard Hermione gasp all the way from across the room and smiled mischievously to himself. 

"We would traipse around all over the world together," he said dreamily, "young, beautiful and brilliant. And we would dazzle everyone we met with our stunning genius and our intoxicating love for one another. I would treat her like a queen and delegate myself to the role of obedient servant, because she would be the only human alive who would be worthy of my love and worship. And I _would_ worship her."

"You...you would?" Hermione asked.

"I would." He said, his heart pounding in his throat. "I would let her do _anything_ to me. Anything she wanted. And I would be whoever she needed me to be if it meant that I could be by her side; whether it was the kindest, most loving man she had ever met, or the world's cruelest bastard. I would do it for her. I would be whatever she wanted me to be." 

"Have you...have you been with many intelligent women then?" She asked after a moment.

"Just one." He said softly, finally opening his eyes and allowing himself to look at her, sitting on the edge of her seat, quill in hand, trembling ever so slightly. 

"You, Hermione." He confessed. "It was _always_ you. You were always the one I wanted, the one I jumped into bed with other people to try and forget, the one who kept me awake at night, the one I loved more than I could ever love anyone else. It was always, _always you."_

"Draco, stop," she said hoarsely, "you don't mean that." 

"Yes," he said, getting off the couch and crossing the room to her, "I do." 

"You don't." She said firmly, turning away from him.

He knelt down on the floor in front of her and took her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his again so she could see that he meant every word. "I do." He repeated earnestly, and then he kissed her as if his life depended on it, the parchment and quill falling out of her hands to the floor. 

He was more relieved than he could ever admit, even to himself, when she kissed him back just as eagerly; pushing him down onto his back on the floor and getting on top of him, her hands exploring his body, unbuttoning the buttons of his crisp Oxford shirt.

"Why, doctor Granger!" He said in mock surprise, pulling away from the kiss as she began unbuckling his belt. "This is rather unprofessional, don't you think?" 

"Take it up with my board of ethics." She grinned as she unzipped his trousers.

"Oh, don't worry," he said, winking at her with a wolfish smile, "the board of ethics will _definitely_ be hearing about _this."_

"Go up the road and tell _Josephine Titmarsh_ if you want, for all I care." she laughed.

"Oooh, good idea, Granger," he said, "I'm sure she'd _love_ that. Shall I invite her round for that cheeky threesome while I'm at it?" 

"No, not tonight," she said with a devilish grin, "I think you'll find you have your hands full showing an intelligent woman what it truly means to have Draco Malfoy treat her like a queen." 

"I thought you said we only had an hour?" He asked as she ran her hands over his body, pleased with this sudden turn of events. 

"As your doctor I've decided that you are a very, _very_ sick man indeed, one who will _definitely_ need a lot more of my undivided time and attention to get well." She said in mock seriousness. 

"Oh, you have, have you?" He smirked. "And tell me doctor, does that mean you think there might be a cure for my problem?" 

"Yes, there _definitely_ is." She purred into his neck, planting light kisses on his skin, her lips traveling up his throat and leaving him breathless. 

"And what would that be?" He asked, pulling her closer to him. Merlin, she was driving him bloody mad kissing him like that. 

"Me." She replied softly, kissing him on the lips again, her body melting into his as he held her in his arms.

"Well, then," he said once they broke away from the kiss, "I think we'd better begin treatment immediately, don't you, doctor?"

"Absolutely." She said, beaming at him, somehow more beautiful to him in this moment than she had ever been.

Draco grinned back at her, no longer caring about appearing cool and disaffected; not now, not with _her_ in his arms, smiling and happy after he'd confessed his feelings to her. He was far too happy and the world suddenly seemed much too beautiful to put on an act. 

Maybe this muggle head shrinking nonsense wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
